


To Be A Mother

by Regen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regen/pseuds/Regen
Summary: Three small ficlets, each dealing with motherhood from the perspective of each Dragon Age protagonist.





	To Be A Mother

**Author's Note:**

> No, Mother's Day doesn't exist in Thedas, I know. Just roll with it. Also, set post-Trespasser. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mother’s Day, like any other holiday or special occasion, comes with guests and schmoozing nobles. Even in Ferelden, nobles pounce on any excuse for a dinner and a chance to gather and gossip. Riona Cousland politely smiles and thanks those who offer her a “Happy Mother’s Day, Your Majesty.” Many are just tossed out, but a few are sincere, and those are the ones she remembers.

But none of that matters. To her, the real joy comes with the arrival of the pitter-patter of small feet hurrying towards her. Despite being surrounded by guests, she ignores all of them and move towards the sound, her smile brightening.

“Mama!” Prince Scott, barely three years old, runs towards her at full speed. Riona bends down and scoops him up, pressing kisses to his face as he squeals.

Alistair follows not far behind, paying no mind to those approaching him to catch his attention. His eyes are on his family, grinning from ear to ear. “Someone demanded his mother’s attention. It _is_ Mother’s Day, after all.”

“Hap’y Ma’s Day!” the little boy exclaims. “Papa and I made cake!”

“You did?” Riona glances skeptically at Alistair. She knows how much of a baker he is _not_.

He smiles sheepishly. “ _Attempted,_ at any rate. Cook might’ve had to step in halfway through, but it’s edible.”

She presses a kiss to Scott’s head, before moving to Alistair and doing the same. “Thank you, both of you. Having you both here, it’s all I could ever hope for.”

Alistair bumps his forehead against hers. “Happy Mother’s Day, dear. You’ve worked harder for it than anyone I know.”

Riona truly did. She went through so much to get here. She remembers all that time on the road, looking for a cure to a millennia-long scourge that threatened to end her life and rob her of any chance of having a family. It strikes her how impossible this moment once was, just five years ago. And now here she stands, alive and holding her son. She couldn’t be happier, and judging by Alistair’s smile, he couldn’t be either.

Her only concern now is to figure out how to tell him they were due to be parents again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mother’s Day greets Hawke with the sun trailing through the open window. She feels the bed shift and dip next to her. An arm wraps around her waist, and a nose nuzzles against her neck before familiar lips place a kiss there.

“Good morning,” she says to Fenris.

“And to you. Happy Mother’s Day.”

She smiles, stretching before leaning back against him, humming contentedly. “It seems Shae is honoring it by letting us sleep in. Oh, he knows how to make his mother happy.”

“It is rather late, isn’t it? I wonder if we should be concerned.”

Hawke turns over, facing him. “Well, I don’t smell anything burning and didn’t hear any screams, so he’s probably alive and unharmed.” Her fingers run over his chest, tracing the outlines of his muscles and scars. “And it’s such a nice morning…”

Fenris rolls them over, kissing Hawke deeply. They get lost in each other for awhile, taking advantage of the peace and quiet.

Eventually, from somewhere downstairs, a young voice calls out, “Mum! Mum, wake up! I made something for you.”

Hawke lifts up her head, chuckling a little as she begins to get up. “And there he is.”

Once they don clothes, the pair walk out of the bedroom and to the railing overlooking downstairs. In the main room stood Shae, proudly standing over his creation. Somehow he had gotten his hands on a canvas and had stretched it out over the floor. Jars of paint stand around it, and a few drops dot the floor around it. The painting is of Hawke, carried out with as much artistic skill as a six year old is capable of.

“It’s you!” Shae grins. “Happy Mother’s Day!”

Hawke climbs down the stairs, almost in awe as she rounds the corner and walks up to the painting. “How did you get all of this?”

“Uncle Varric.”

“Ah, I should have known.” Hawke smiles widely as she looks down at the painting. “Thank you. We’ll have to find a frame for this.”

“You really like it?”

“Of course I do.” Hawke really does. Even if it’s no artistic masterpiece, the work and thought he put into it almost brings her to tears.

Fenris steps over, smiling softly as he admires the painting. “Luckily, he has your artistry and not mine.”

Shae snorts. “Yeah. Sorry Dad, but even your stick figures are bad.”

Hawke bursts into laughter, even as Fenris looks (mostly) mock offended. She pulls Shae into a hug, snickering as she kisses his head. “All right you. Let’s clean this up, and see if we can’t make some breakfast.”

But rather than immediately join in, she simply watches for a moment as Shae begins picking up his jars, grinning apologetically at Fenris. The elf huffs out a laugh and ruffles Shae’s hair before bending down to help.

Hawke never expected to be a mother. Shae had been a surprise to her and Fenris, born in the midst of turmoil and uncertainty. She hadn’t been sure she was even cut out for the job. Yet, after having lost so much, especially family, the thought of _gaining_ family, of bringing something good into the world won out. And now, she can’t imagine life without him, the precocious boy who’d stolen his parents’ hearts. She’s been many things: refugee, Champion, figurehead of a resistance. But the role of mother, for all its simplicity, is the one she is most grateful for.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mother’s Day comes as something bittersweet to Ilia. She once hated the holiday, never wanting to celebrate a mother who looked down on her. Too often on this day, she had to swallow her anger and hurt and pretend that she loved the wretch who tore apart her self-esteem and did everything she could to make her youngest daughter miserable, all because _she_ was miserable, and wanted someone vulnerable to take it out on. When Ilia finally got away, she swore to have nothing to do with the day again.

But now, there’s happiness in the day again.

As she walks out into the kitchen, her brow raises at the sight of Cullen standing in the kitchen, perching little Owen on his hip as he helps their daughter, Aislin, stir something in a bowl. He murmurs instructions to her, holding the bowl still as she stirs the spoon.

Owen turns his head, and he lets out a sound at the sight of his mother. Cullen and Aislin turn, and the little girl abandons her task for the moment to run over to the table. “It’s Mother’s Day! We got you flowers!”

As stated, there stands a vase of wildflowers. “We’ve been busy this morning, I see.” Ilia lets her daughter hand her the vase, carefully taking it from her with a smile. “Thank you, lovebug.”

“She insisted,” Cullen says with a smile. “And also on us making you breakfast. Though I can’t attest to how it’ll turn out.”

Ilia sets the vase down, herding Aislin back into the kitchen. “You’ll be all right, so long as you’re not planning a full Orlesian spread or something.”

“Like we’d make something Orlesian in this household,” Cullen says with a scoff. He glances down at the bowl. “Just eggs and some bread. We were hoping you’d sleep in a little while longer so we could serve it to you in bed.”

“The lack of commotion woke me up,” Ilia teases, leaning against him. “Peace and quiet are usually signs of trouble.” She smiles at Owen, reaching around and brushing some of his curly hair out of his eyes. “I can help out-”

“No!” Aislin pouted and pointed to the kitchen table. “Momma’s not supposed to work today! Daddy and I gotta do it.”

Ilia suppressed a laugh, though she couldn’t quite smother a smile. “Are you ordering me to not help?”

“Yes!”

Cullen snorts, a smile playing at his lips and lighting his eyes. “Best do as she says, love.”

“All right, all right. Want me to at least take Owen?”

Cullen nods, handing the baby to her. It’s always difficult, with only one usable arm, but Ilia decided a long time ago that it would not stop her from being able to hold them. After some adjusting, she has him secured and walks over to the table. She sits down, placing him in her lap.

It’s such a tame thing, she thinks, taking joy in watching her husband and daughter chatter away as they make breakfast. But only because of the life she led just a few years earlier makes this seem so modest. She once led the Inquisition, felling Corypheus and going up against an elven god. Some might even think she’s fallen from grace. To her, the domesticity and contentment she finds here is not a trade-off, but a reward. Here, amongst her family, she’s finally learned to be happy.


End file.
